Winds that Tread
The courtyard was filled with trampled leaves, mucky ashes embedded in the earth. The morning breeze lifted the scent of last night’s rain into the air – slightly frigid winds that tread over the fallen tree petals and the small, huddled figure sleeping on a stone bench. The figure was a barely perceptible lump under the frayed leather of a brown jacket, but small sneakered feet stuck out from under the hem. Shoes, once a lighthearted white, now stained with the knowledge of long walks across unstable glades.